Darkest Mark
by Meridian Tangent
Summary: She watched as the body writhed, muscles convulsing rapidly and erratically, a face locked into a blank horror. A mark, imprinted on the upper right arm, pulsed, as if alive, seeming to shift across his skin. She knew what standard magical traps where, studied them. Even dark magic had known limits. This was something else. It was another kind of Dark.
1. Introduction

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors.

Introduction: The Calamity

She hated the rain.

It fell, endlessly, cleansing all things. It brought a frigid cold, a chill that cut through fabric and flesh, settling deep into the bones. It was a relentless force of nature, a power that not many could fully appreciate. The rain cut a swath through the city, washing away all things that did not belong.

The filth, the weak, and the forgotten.

She blinked and watched as the water railed against the window, carried aloft by powerful winds. The gusts howled through the city streets, as the dark mass of the storm loomed ominously. It came upon them suddenly, arriving from the east at the twilight hour, and had been unrelenting in its attempt to drown the city. It was late and hours after its arrival the storm was unabated in its downpour.

She hated the rain.

Turning, she left the thunder and rain, favoring her desk instead. Her office was spartan and ergonomic. Everything had its place. A set of shelves lined the walls, packed with dozens of large binders. A short filing cabinet sat against the far corner, its drawers ajar with various folders and case files. Her desk supported a plethora of mixed papers, a half filled "In/Out" tray, and a coffee mug that showed a quiet picture of the Thames. She sighed, a cloak of weariness falling heavily upon her. This case was complex, a series of falsehoods entangled with grains of questionable half-truths. The reports coming in were not helping. Every acolyte captured either provided nothing of valuable intelligence, or died during interrogation. The Ministry seemed at a loss of how to effectively combat this menace, and her own investigation was being hamstrung because of it.

A hand rose to her temples to soothe the pounding headache, just another cost in this underground war, as the other reached for the mug. The caffeinated beverage did little to roll back the pain. She had been at this for months, combing through dozens of leads and reports. The instigator of this conflict rose to prominence quickly, proclaiming cause of blood unity and bigotry with the force of a sledgehammer. Despite being little more than a terrorist, he has been meticulous about covering his tracks and ruthless in his ambition for dominance.

She turned her attention to a copy of last interrogation of a captured acolyte. She had no other moniker to describe them. They followed this madman with unparalleled zeal, their eyes manic with belief in their superiority. Any attempt to at forced coercion always resulted in the death of the acolyte, by way of their unique magical brand shared by all members.

The woman closed her eyes, willing back the pounding in her head and the heaviness of exhaustion. That damnable mark was the cause of more deaths than the Aurors themselves. It was a kill switch and mind control device all rolled into one. While under the mark, a person cannot release information deemed "protected", under any circumstance. If forced by magical means, then the mark forcibly separates the host's soul from their body, instantly killing them. Meanwhile, it performed a far more subtle task. She had studied it, done tests on some captives, with the discretion of the Ministry. It was insidious, playing on the desire to be accepted, to have purpose. It targeted loyalty, morals, self-worth; everything that could be twisted to make the bearer into little more than a servant.

It subtly subverted the will of the bearer, made them more accepting to the extreme and radical choices of the organization, of their master. It bent their soul, by imperceptible degrees, and eroded away the will of the servant to fight back, to choose a different path. To all but the strongest it resulted in an unknowing slave to the master's will.

Worse of her discoveries were the ones that she did not share with the Ministry, the ones that initially brought this whole event to her attention. This self styled Dark Lord was considered terrible, a being who knew no bounds and sought to burn the civilized world. In reality, he wanted to bring about radical change to the system, something different, something exclusive. He used his mark to ensure that those who survived would follow his design, his image of how everything should function. The mark was so unique, so subtle, that she barely would have seen it if not for her own training. It permeates the soul of the bearer, twisting it, degrading it. Over time it destabilizes the soul, strips away recognized emotions, and reduces it to something basic, so primal, that the bearer becomes little more than putty in the hands of the master.

Reports had suggested that those most heavily indoctrinated felt a calm serenity in the presence of their master, as it everything was right in the world, that nothing could possibly be wrong.

The Ministry condoned it as magic of the darkest degree.

She only half way agreed with their assessment.

That discovery triggered her investigation into the Dark Lord. If he really was the originator of the mark, then it raised a number of uncomfortable questions that needed answering.

She sighed and laid the report back in the jumbled pile. She was getting nowhere. Everyone had shut down on her. What contacts she had among the sympathizers of this death cult had disappeared. The Ministry was turning itself over with conspiracy and fear as the discovered how deep treachery ran. Even the Order had gone dark on her months ago, though she suspected that to be something of the old wizard's doing. She never really had a good handle on him, given his penchant for playing things close to the chest.

Even her contacts in the rest of Britain gave little. It did say something that the Ministry had subtly reached out to its non-magical counterpart to brief them on the civil war, but little else was known. This instigator, this Dark Lord, had no known identity, no alias he used to walk in public. He owned nothing, was no one, and appeared as a force to be reckoned with in the blink of an eye. He seemed to crawl out of a deep, dark crevice with the sole intent of discord. He was an enigma, an echo of darkness that desired control and power, and offered to promise of peace after too much bloodshed.

She shook her head. Those thoughts were not going to help. She needed to focus, to concentrate on what mattered. After a glance of her mug she came to one solemn conclusion

She needed more coffee.

Grabbing her mug, she left her office for the adjacent waiting room. She operated out of a two room office space. The main office room was hers to work with, while a reception area functioned as a waiting room for clients. A couch lay against a wall, a three seated thing that cost more than it should. A small table sat nearby with outdated magazines. A desk was positioned next to the corridor to her office. It had a similar set up to her own, with the exception of a phone, a couple of framed photos, and the saving grace of her night.

The coffee maker.

She smiled, once again thankful to find an assistant with some taste in hot beverages.

A few minutes, and one full mug, later she found herself sitting on the couch, reflecting on the day. The weather had turned foul this late into Fall, forcing her to dress warmer. She wore a plain dark green sweater with a navy blue long sleeved top. A simple pair of jeans rounded off with a pair of functional, form fitting boots. Her hair, usually down and lose around her shoulders, was pulled back into a simple braid. She had received quite a comment over it, being a unique snow white despite her age, but nobody ever questioned it to much. Subverting conversations was something she was decent enough at, especially for her profession.

A frown crossed her face and she shook her head, pale eyes closing as she forced thoughts of work away. She needed to just relax. Just five minutes and she could worry about it all. Just a small break.

Maybe that really was too much to ask for.

Suddenly a loud click rang out across the room, followed by the front door being shoved open. A figure quickly stumbled in, leaning on the door as she wrestled with her key, dripping from the storm. The woman looked in a panic, eyes wide from some unknown fear.

The investigator looked on from her couch, an eyebrow raised. Her young assistant presented a curious sight. She was shorter by a few inches, but made up for it with a fiery temper. Her short midnight hair was plastered against her skin, evidence of her time in the torrent overtaking the city. She wore a gray wool coat over a ruby sweater, a gold locket hanging from her neck. A pair of faded jeans supported a simple belt with a slender holster attached. Finally, she wore a pair of converse sneakers, which had become drenched from the downpour.

The woman freed her key from the infernal lock, silently cursing her stupidity for not just popping the mechanism with her wand. She turned, catching sight of her friend, and exclaimed, "Aurelia!"

Said woman raised her brow higher, quietly sipping her drink.

The shorter woman quickly pulled her coat off, haphazardly tossing it to a nearby coat rack, and reached for the holster. She withdrew a curious piece of wood, roughly a foot long, ornately shaped with a simple handle at one end. A single, casual wave toward her clothes and the water disappeared, the fabric spontaneously drying.

Aurelia frowned. She never agreed with the using of magic for small things. It was too potent a force to wantonly use for simple activities. She gave a short sigh before asking, "What has you so worried, Anna? Did something happen at the party?" It was Halloween, a day of superstition and mysticism. The magical community treated it with the enthusiasm of a second Christmas.

Anna nodded, holstering her wand, and moved for her own coffee mug. "Something happened." she said, as she poured her own cup, "I was at Hogsmeade, visiting friends for the holiday, when a story started going around."

Aurelia gave her a dry look. "A story?"

"Yes, an important one started by the grounds keeper of the school. Do you remember the Potters?"

The name rang a bell. She had met them briefly at one of the few Order meeting that she had been invited too. The were polite and courteous, denounced the blood purity supporters, and did what they could against the rising threat of the Dark Lord. The husband was a well-known wizard of some pedigree, while the wife was born to a non-magical family and did not discover her hidden potential until later in life. Aurelia had conversed with her on the subject of magic in everyday living, and they shared a common irritation at its pervasive use.

"It has been many months but yes, I remember them."

Anna took a breath, held it, and slowly released. She didn't really know how to get all this out, but she had too. She started, her voice a little shaken, "Something was going on that we did not know of. Something involving the Potters. I think its why the Order went dark on us. You operate on the fringe, and the Order didn't want something getting out."

Aurelia furrowed her brow. She expected as much, but she did not know where her assistant was going with this. "Anna, what happened?"

The younger woman shook her head, took a breath, and spoke, "They're dead."

The investigator blinked.

"Excuse me?"

The assistant continued, "Something happened. They were sought out, tracked down to their home, and attacked. The Potters were killed but brought their assailant down with them."

Aurelia grimaced. It seemed that family had attracted the wrong kind of attention in their dealings with the Order. It was a shame that they were gone, but it did not explain Anna's frantic entrance. "Do we have an I.D on the attacker?"

Brown eyes sought her pale orbs, worry and a bit of fear dancing within. The crux of the matter had been brought up.

Anna steadied a breath, gripping her mug like a life line, and whispered out a single word.

"Him."

Aurelia felt herself stop breathing. Her assistant did not have the courage to call the Dark Lord by his true name, but it was all the same. The Potters had obtained the dubious and lethal attention of the darkest magic user in the country, a man who Aurelia was beginning to suspect knew far more than he ever should about the nature of such power. Her assistant was right. The Order would never have been able to hide whatever had dragged that monster's attention to the Potters. She would have found out, would have moved to interfere, but it would have been on behalf of the small family.

Wait. The wife, Lily, she had mentioned a son when they had last spoke. He had been the source of some conversation.

"Were there any survivors?" In war people died, but that did not mean that a child had to suffer so.

Anna paused, taking a drink of the beverage. "Yes," she said, "the Potters had an infant son that survived."

Aurelia felt a small bit of relief, and regret. The child lived, but was now an orphan. A sad fate.

"They say that it was the child that defeated Him."

The investigator blinked. That was not possible, should not be possible. The thought of the Dark Lord being gone was troubling enough. She had theories about him, about the extent of his abilities. She did not believe that Death would claim him as easily as it would others.

With a start she realized a very important detail in this story. Anna had heard this from the grounds keeper of the school, a large man with an equally loud mouth.

Within hours all of magical Britain was going to know of the event.

"Where is the child now." She stood, quickly making her way to the office. Time was ticking away. Time they did not have.

Anna was startled by the other woman's actions, and stood to follow. "I don't know. Hagrid didn't say, only that he was the only survivor in the attack."

Which likely meant that the half-giant already absconded with the boy, who was now almost certainly in the hands of the old wizard. She silently cursed. She was never getting to the young Potter then. He would certainly keep her away, use his own influence to muddle her contacts. The child would disappear off the map entirely, whether she liked it or not.

To much had already happened. To many events already catalyzed. She was playing catch up in a game that had already ended.

"What are you doing?"

Aurelia blinked as she shuffled through papers. The child had survived an attack from the Dark Lord, a creature that was known for terrible power and magic. Something happened, she was sure of it. Something that should not have. An infant does not just obliterate a being of that potency. She had already lost the child, but she would have the rest.

Anna looked on worriedly as her friend rifled through the various papers. Each one offered only a momentary glance before being thrown to the floor, forgotten. She was animated, engrossed in her search. The younger woman didn't know what to do. She was at a loss now that He had been defeated. All the work and effort put into her employer's investigation would be for naught.

At the thought a paper was roughly shoved into her hands, the culprit quickly move past her, coat in hand. "Call this individual and tell him its on my behalf. Find out everything you can on the Potters' assets. Where they lived, what they owned. The mother had numerous non-magical connections. I want to know where this event took place, the site of the murders."

The assistant blinked before turning to follow, her mind a flurry with the order she had just received. She turned, following the rushing woman. "Wait what's going on!?"

Aurelia finished shrugging her coat on as she reached the front door. She turned, noting the wide eyes and flustered appearance of her assistant, and spoke, "Time is not on our side here. We need to move swiftly if this investigation is to survive. It will not be long before the public learns of the Dark Lord's demise which will only complicate things. Even if he is gone the basis of the investigation still remains."

Anna nodded. She understood, in theory, the ramifications of what He knew. Her time at Hogwarts had taught her that knowledge was a powerful tool. It was pervasive and spread like a pox. If He had an apprentice to carry on His work, or some form of record of what he accomplished, then the magical world may be plagued with this darkness for years to come.

The white haired woman continued, motioning to the paper, "Use that information. Find out where the attack took place and investigate it. By morning the site will be buried in red tape and Aurors. Use the cover of night and find out what you can." She finished and turned to the door.

The young woman nodded, accepting the mission as it were. She asked as the other opened the door to leave, "What about you? Where are you going?"

Aurelia paused, considering her answer. She frowned as she replied, "To Hogwarts."


	2. Chapter 2

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors.

Chapter 2: Broken Home

Anna shivered, pulling her coat closer to stave off the night chill. She walked, in measured steps, down a small road, her destination weighing heavily on her mind. What would she find when arrived? The tale Hagrid had spun told of a ruined home, broken beyond repair. It told of a happy family destroyed by a great darkness. She had no desire to be there, to see what carnage was wrought, but loyalty toward her friend kept her moving ever forward.

Godric's Hollow was a sleepy town, a small community that was in large part nestled away from the troubles of magical Britain. A few notable names claimed the town as residence, but for the most part it was a simple, out of the way township with some magical folk in it. Overall it was a calm place, a location Anna could have enjoyed touring and sightseeing for its novelty.

Now, she could only grimace as she entered the edge of town. Apparating directly into the hollow was avoided due to the possibility of tripping some alarm. It was unknown if He had the forethought to place sentries nearby should the Potters' escape as they had before, so she had to make due with going in on foot.

She swallowed a hard lump, a hand drifting across her wand holster. She had limited dueling experience from her time at Hogwarts, but it had always been structured fighting, nothing especially dangerous to the students. Her experience with true combat, a life-or-death struggle, was severely lacking. Her employer had done what she could in their time together, teaching the young woman various tricks and maneuvers.

Anna was under no assumptions about her ability to take on experienced murders tossing out forbidden curses like candy.

She would be surprised to last five seconds.

She shook her head, pushing those thoughts away. Taking deep breaths she focused on the task at hand. It was dark, the road dimly illuminated by sparse street lights. Her destination was not far now, only a few hundred meters.

The Potter home had been difficult to track down. The contact that Aurelia had given her turned out to be very well connected, able to obtain property records tied to the Potters with ease. This property, though, had maintained an unnatural elusiveness. The house at Godric's Hollow was not on any record that they could pull, nothing on the local directory or the national census archives. There was no record of any renovation, nor of utilities being paid for. For all intents this building might as well have not existed at all.

It was a home that was lost. Forgotten.

Magic. Someone had made the home lost, the only real way to be sure that He wouldn't find it. Anna mentally applauded the Potters for their forethought. Why continue running and evading a never ending pursuit when you could just disappear? It appeared to work for a time, at least until the primary weakness of the Fidelius became the downfall of the small family.

Anna shook her head. She had learned all she could of charms while at school. It had been her favorite subject and, subsequently, her best. The charm used was old and powerful, a construct that could hide away anything from anyone. It was thorough and total in its veil, erasing any proof of the target object being part of their reality. The only way for the Fidelius to fail was for the secret keeper, the only living being with the ability to spread the knowledge of the _existence_ of the target object, to tell someone.

The Potters had been betrayed by the only person they had trusted with their secret of their home, their lives, too.

The family had paid dearly for their misplaced trust.

Once she had figured out that the home had been made lost it was simple to figure out where the house was. With their death the charm had been lifted. Her time as Aurelia's assistant had taught her that powerful magic, such as the Fidelius, didn't just disappear when dispelled. It lingered, moved of its own accord, brokenly following the command it was given. It would be some time before the magic bled away into nothing, revealing all that it had hidden. Meanwhile it left an echo, a magical last gasp, that could be felt by those sensitive enough.

A pocket of magic that could also be scried.

Not an hour later and they had the location of the home. The contact had been a squib, unsurprisingly, and had the materials that she needed on hand. They had formulated a quick entry plan and she had been off, no questions asked.

Anna gave out a sigh. Her employer's people were not her concern. She had a job to do.

As she moved forward the light receded into a darkness, the lighting in the area having gone out. Magical disturbances have always been known to cause interference with modern day electronics and anything using such technology. With the mention of such a high-profile magical killer in the area it was not surprising that street lights would be on this casualty list.

The witch reached into a coat pocket, retrieving the answer to a predicted problem: a small, palm sized blue pebble. It was warm to the touch, a soothing sensation to the chilly winds sweeping the area. She could feel the magic radiating from the small stone, a power the felt whimsical and light, almost like a charm. It brought a small smile to Anna's face at the comparison, but it was really all she understood about the little implement.

A gift given to her by Aurelia after a botched investigation into a vampire smuggling ring, it was meant to be a guide for her when she had none, to "illuminate the way". It hadn't taken Anna long to figure out a practical use for the trinket, but otherwise she had not idea what it actually was, despite months of looking into it during her own time. It was a magic stone with, seemingly, only one function.

With a brief moment of concentration magic flowed from within, coursing its way across her arm and to the stone, feeding the inherent magic of the rock with her own. Instantly the pebble erupted in a white light, a faint aura that extending roughly five meters, bathing everything in a soft glow.

A light to guide the way indeed.

After re-checking her notice-me-not charms and suppressing the magic signature of the stone, she continued on, the house finally in sight.

The house was barren and deserted, a dilapidated construct devoid of life and joy. The front door was missing, likely obliterated during the assault. The lawn, a once vibrant green of life, lay still in a gray death, as if the very essence was drained away. Shards of the front windows lay on the ground, blown out by some terrible force. What was once a home now stood as an example of1 the hatred and ambition of a monstrous entity.

Standing before a small gate, left slightly ajar, Anna could feel the sorrow radiating out from the location. The Fidelius echoed out the last moments of its masters, waves of barely perceptible fear and anguish radiating outward, felt only by those attuned to such emanations, a warning to all who dare approach. It was if the magic itself with scared with the horror that took place here. She could make out the pain embedded in the magic, chased by an unspeakable darkness.

She took her wand, the feel of the powerful implement calming, and waved it in a wide arc, muttering incantations. Simple diagnostic spells meant for lingering magic radiated outward in a wave of azure light, seeking traps left behind for those who would follow. The light washed across the building, gliding up and over the walls, dissipating into tiny motes winking out of existence. Anna sighed, relieved that no one had set up protections over the site. Dismantling curses, especially ones as dark as the forbidden, was not something she could handle alone.

With a heavy heart she steeled herself against the darkness , her grip over the wand ever firm, and crossed the threshold. She kept her footsteps light, ever aware of the foreboding presence of the rent magic, eyes peeled for danger. Tugging her coat closer she reached the door, peaking across the doorway and into the ruined home.

Before her was the remains of a sitting room, furniture upended and torn, as if smashed by some force of raw power. The walls were scorched black, streaks of obsidian against a white background, like the claws of a great beast. It was dark, encompassing, the power having failed much earlier. The pebble cast great shadows across the room, a veil of shifting darkness that followed her actions.

Anna shuddered, suppressing a long held fear of the night. She held an aversion to the dark, an absence of so much more than light itself. It covered all things, obscuring their true form and nature, leaving just the mystery of the unknown. It was a raw, primal fear of man to fear the dark, but in the magical world it meant so much more, and she understood that. The dark arts are considered so not only due to their inhuman nature, but because they operated on different principles of spell work altogether, forces that are misunderstood and entirely unknown.

Aurelia had opened her eyes to a few secrets of the world, which held such deeper meaning than she ever knew. The woman knew more about the magical world than most of the professors at Hogwarts, yet remained so disassociated with the happenings of witches and wizards. She kept to her own affairs, investigating events that, often, provoked a certain fear in people, a primal emotion that seemed to emanate from more than just themselves.

There were worse things to fear than darkness itself, she would often comment.

The assistant shook her head, clearing her thoughts and coming back to the situation. A ruined home, the sight of a terrible killing, bathed in the twisted remains of a powerful charm. Now was not the time to get lost in reflection. She needed to hurry before anyone else showed up.

She moved forward, carefully avoiding glass and debris where she could. This was the scene of a battle but it appeared contained, limiting the damage to this room. The connecting hallways and rooms beyond appeared in better condition, and the staircase seemed relatively untouched. What happened here was a localized event, a struggle to contain the menace that had invaded the home.

Her foot caught on something, a loose object buried beneath the remains of a couch. Bringing the light stone to bear brought a horrible realization that made her stomach turn: there was an arm pinned under the ruined furniture. She swallowed hard, kneeling down to inspect the limb. Its fingers were clenched in the death state, muscles held taut throughout the arm. She was somewhat relieved by the lack of gore, barely able to see the rest of the body underneath the derbies, a man no doubt.

Anna froze on that thought and cast her eyes to the exposed hand. Sitting neatly on the fourth finger was a gold band, the symbol of promise and hope between two beings.

She gasped and stood, taking a step away at this revelation. This man who had fallen to such a dangerous and dark foe, had to be James Potter. He had always been known for having exceptional courage and bravery, standing up to challenges that would ward others away. That he would face down the darkness plaguing their world, an evil that had invaded his very home, took a particular kind of courage.

With a chill rolling over her, Anna looked across the destroyed sitting room, seeing it with a new perspective. She had developed a sharp eye for detail at school, often seeing connections between subjects and topics that earned her high marks and favor, a vision that had been further refined under Aurelia's care. This wasn't meant to be left as a totally destroyed structure, a testament to His power and the futility to resist. Not even James, with his selflessness, could have prevented the onset of such power from totally obliterating the house. No, this was something more than just a show of strength. It was a brutal slaying, an assassination blended with the raw ferocity of a storm.

He came upon them, quick as a summer rain, with the power of a muggle wrecking ball. James must have been nearby, rushed to intercept the lethal foe, fully aware of the inevitable sacrifice he would give. This family had a penchant for quick escapes, having defied Him multiple times. He would have wasted time with the usual flair frequently associated with His acts. The furniture was used as improvised weapons, thrown about as easily as a child with a toy, and cover from the more physical damaging spells.

She sighed. How long had James last? He was known as a powerful wizard, one who could be trusted on in a fight, but techniques could only take you so far in the face of such power. At some point his bravery failed him and he fell, another casualty in this terrible war. He was buried under the wreckage of his peaceful home and she couldn't bear to look further into the state of his wounds. She didn't have the stomach for such procedure.

A thought flashed across her mind and she waved her wand, releasing a spell. Instantly an item, long and dark, flew across the room, landing in her extended left hand by the pebble. A wand, scratched and chipped, the handle worn from use. This tool had been used to defend this home to its master's last breath. It deserved more than to left behind for scavengers or be locked away in some evidence locker forever.

The first floor yielded nothing of interest. Trinkets and baubles lined shelves, books of variety sat peaceful in their cases. It was clear that nothing in the house had interested the fiend aside from the occupants. If James had died in the front sitting room, then what had happened to Lily?

She glanced at the main staircase, its shadow looming ominously from the pebble's light. What would a desperate mother, who's husband was lost to an unspeakable evil, do?

Ascending the staircase was an eerie experience. The wood was not so old and forgotten to creak unrelentingly but the stillness of the house was pervasive. It was empty of all things and in that absence was left a hollowness that threatened to swallow everything.

The second floor was left untouched, ignored by the force tat had butchered the home. Beds left made forever to be unused, a desk with a half written letter never to be finished. A bath had been run, the water sitting stagnate in the dead home. This was a life interrupted, an attack that truly came without warning.

Turning into the last room she was faced with a terrible sight: Lilly Potter, fallen near the crib, dead on the floor. She looked untouched, as if she was merely unconscious. Anna knew of the curse favored so heavily by the Death Eaters, a spell that left not a mark but ripped the very soul from the target's body. The woman had given her life to protect the only thing that mattered: her son.

Nearby lay a pile of black robes, cloth heavily reminiscent of the death cult. Anna averted her eyes, deeply uncomfortable to be near anything once belonging to Him. Whatever happened here involved strong magic, power capable of destroying such a menace so completely that only clothes remained. It was here that the magic echoed the strongest, casting waves of pain and loss in all directions. It was stifling and chaotic, seeming to cackle with a mad laughter here and there.

It took a great amount of concentration to ignore the remains and investigate the room. It was a simple nursery, built with all the hope and joy that a small child brings. Nothing was disturbed save the crib blankets.

Anna sighed, feeling the exhaustion of the night take hold. There was nothing here, just a dead family and a shattered home. With the use of a levitation spell she perused the dark robes, finding nothing of value. His wand, a powerful and dark implement in its own right, was gone. With the proper rituals they could have learned much from it, but alas there was nothing of value for the investigation. She couldn't bare to bring the clothes back, to be near them any long, and the Potters were best left to the authorities.

With a wand flick she retrieved the last item she had come for, a gift of legacy for the orphaned boy, fully ready to be gone from this place.


	3. Chapter 3

A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors.

Chapter 3: Opposition

The castle halls were lit up with the celebrations of the 31st. Giant pumpkins that grinned with fire would wink animatedly to those who passed. Ghosts floating around would do their best to 'spook' the youngest class, those students still enraptured by the otherworldly nature of the magical world. This day was a magical day, a time of cheer and joy for the mysterious and bizarre, a time to bath in the mysticism of the world.

Most weren't aware of the dark events that had occurred this night.

Aurelia ignored the cackling of a nearby pumpkin, solely focused on her meeting with the headmaster. Getting to the school had taken longer than she had hoped, the time nearing the turn of the day. Arranging an apparition that quickly had been costly, and the travel from Hogsmeade had cut into time. Retrieving her things from the apartment hadn't helped. This wasn't a casual appearance; she was acting under an official capacity for this investigation and she had to look it.

She looked more ready to face down a couple of acromantulas or a werewolf than to speak with the headmaster of a wizarding school. An outfit of faded gray leather armor covered her frame, pieces of mail covering the joints. A belt hugged her waist, covered in pouches and sacks containing unknown effects. She wore fingerless gloves, each with a plain red gem, the size of a finger nail, sewn into the palms. A bandolier hung across her body, filled with a dozen small silver knives. Her armor was slim and light, her movement unimpeded by the equipment so uncommon in the wizarding world. It was also worn, small tears and damage not yet mended marking the protective layer, a display that it was not for show.

Aurelia cast a wide berth as the students warded away from the official looking visitor. Most hushed words were about who she was, if she was a graduate, and how cool her 'costume' was.

She frowned at that. Costume indeed.

She could already see the rumors of a monster hunter come to Hogwarts. There were many dangerous creatures in the Forbidden Forest, a neighboring strip of land aptly named. Giant spiders, centaurs, wild wolves and other perilous creatures roamed the forest, a blatant hazard to all who would tread on its ground. The school utilized it for its studies but for the most part left it alone, unwilling to control the wildlife so long as they left the school alone. Some witches and wizards, those with a deep interest in the magical creatures of the world and a seemingly unhealthy desire for an adrenaline rush, made a living as hunters of such animals. They were experts in their field and masters of their craft, the kind of expertise that one turned to when an outbreak occurred. It was a risky profession, one fraught with peril in many regards, but it had its own rewards.

Aurelia scoffed. That's how it was in days of yore. Now the most dangerous creatures were handled by specialized personal who were more apt to preserve life than end it. The hunters of today were nothing but glorified pest control, only be called to clean up minor vermin that any student could handle. To be compared to those unskilled, ignorant hunters was an insult.

She hunted creatures of another kind.

As the students headed t the dorms for the night Aurelia reached an alcove that housed a particular statue: a gargoyle in the shape of a griffin. Its wings were curved inward, as if it was about to take flight, its beak wide in some cry of anticipation. Made from a brilliant metal, some offshoot of bronze, it shined with glory and honor, an eternal guardian of the school's most important servant.

She stared at the faux creature, taking in the master craftsmanship bound into the piece. It was a part of castle, a structure that had stood as a place of learning and safety for the young magical populace of Britain for over a thousand years. Hogwarts was one of the greatest institutions ever created, put forth by some of the most brilliant minds of their time. It was a old, ancient in depth and scale, steeped in some of the oldest magic and powerful magic left in the world.

The true nature of the school was a secret that the Headmasters learned once they came into the occupation. This was more than just a place of protection and growth, it was an entity unto itself, given life and personality by the thousands and thousands of those who had come through its halls. The moving staircases, interrupting the flow of students like traffic lights controlling traffic congestion; the classrooms that seemed to show up at exactly the right time for a youth not to be late. Those who came, learned, and graduated never gave the oddities of the castle a thought beyond that it was just mysterious magic bound into the castle grounds. The school had been operating for centuries and only the most trusted had been allowed the knowledge that it was more than what it appeared.

This place was old and powerful, Aurelia could feel it, could feel the subtle emanations of power coiling through stone and metal, extending to everything within its domain. She had felt the potency of its might when she crossed the wards surrounding the school, barriers made to prevent anyone from entering unless invited. Stalwart protections that had long since hidden the school from all intrusion by the non-magical world.

Barriers that had opened willfully for her, like the door of an old friend, excited to welcome into their home after so many years.

She took a breath, eyed the construct before her, and spook, her tone even and steady.

"Contravention."

A moment passed by and then another as quick as the last. Suddenly the gargoyle moved, the pedestal and stature rotating sideways into some unseen pocket. Behind it lay the beginnings of a spiral staircase that, inevitably, led toward the headmaster's spire.

The school remembered more than anyone would ever know.

After ascending the tower she stepped into the office, observing the unique oddities housed in the headmaster's sanctum. Strange silver contraptions whirred and chimed with an unknown purpose. Shelves lined with various obscure items that she half recognized were on display. Jars with different plants and powders; tomes bound with locks, as if they would fly open and unleash their secrets. At the back of the room sat a basin, filled with luminescent water that shined with an ethereal quality. It was a pensieve, a mystical device used to understand memories and dreams, a powerful relic of a bygone time. The desk was in disarray, dozens of parchment lay haphazardly across its frame, a crystal ball filled with a visage of a swirling storm, a cauldron bubbling ominously with an unknown concoction. A fireplace crackled with flame and cinders, a hearth that provided more than head and ascetic pleasure.

Dozens of paintings lined the circular walls, stretching up to the dark depths of the tower's peak. The portraits were animated, the figures moving from frame to frame, conversing with each other in hushed whispers. Despite being little more than painted images these beings were alive, impressions of headmasters and mistresses that had come before and were long since gone. They existed in their portrait world, an antique magic that was rare and difficult to perform, available should anyone be in need of their wisdom.

Aurelia took all of this in and focused on the one thing that mattered: an old man in a silly outfit.

He looked like the stereotypical wizard from children tales. Tall and thin, wearing maroon robes lined with gold stitching that seemed to swirl and twist with their own whimsical desire. A sock hat that hung half way down his back covered his head and obscured his alabaster hair. A golden amulet that hung down to his navel, a large thing that she could not fathom the purpose of. He wore a beard, as white as her own hair, that stretched to his waist, the traditional symbol of a wise wizard. He was wrinkled with age and wore a set of half moon spectacles, his back stiff and his shoulders slightly hunched. He stood by a window, the open portal the cause of a small draft, staring out at something only he could see.

This was the inarguable most powerful wizard of their age, a man of tremendous raw magical talent back firmly with an acute intellect that rivaled most modern scientists. He was a master of several known disciplines and an accomplished duelist that very few could go toe-to-toe with. His age afforded great wisdom and his health, bolstered by the effects of magic on the human body, was solid enough to see him through perhaps another century.

This was the modern day Merlin. Albus Dumbledore.

Anyone would be in mild awe at being afforded an audience with such a figure. Aurelia shook her head at the thought.

They knew too much of each other to be anything other than mildly cooperative.

He turned, seeming to notice her for the first time, and spoke with wide eyes, taken aback by the sudden intrusion, "Oh, I did not hear you come in.

A lie, a charade that he liked to play. This space was his, dominated by his magic and presence, owned and controlled by his will. The castle had conceded it to him as the headmaster. She had made her appearance known before her foot had left the first step.

He motioned to the desk and chairs, bidding her to sit. She sighed, only moderately willing to play along, and took a seat. He took his own seat, a high backed chair that more seemed fitting for a lord of a house than a headmaster.

Reaching over, sliding some of the clutter aside, the opened the lid of a small dish of lemon drops, offering one to her before taking one himself. Settling in he continued, "It is a surprise that you have come so late."

"You knew I would come." Her words were swift. It was a fact.

"Yes," he mused, "but I expected you tomorrow, sometime around morning I imagine."

Just when the papers would be hitting the streets of how the Potters had been assassinated and how the dark lord was disposed of.

An uncomfortable silence hung between the two, a pause caused more by mutual distrust than anything else. Despite the ever potent danger that the renegade dark lord posed cooperation had been limited between these two beings. She had been too a meeting of his order, a small gesture of goodwill, and had gotten along with the people well enough. But in the end it was for not. They operated in different ways, their goals far and away from each other's.

A family had been destroyed by a monster that she might have been able to stop had she known. Perhaps Anna was right about her disconnected disposition to the magical world.

She spoke, breaking the silence, "You know why I am here, then?"

The old man before her leaned back, seeming to be lost in thought but for just a moment. He regarded her with tired eyes, a veil that belied their sharp attention. "I can surmise that its about the events of tonight, festivities not withstanding?"

They locked eyes, old blue eyes regarding her pale orbs like a stalwart fortress, a tempered wall that could hold all evil at bay. Her gaze held firm, unmoved by his resolve.

Finally he spoke, his voice hard a firm, "The boy is gone."

She blinked. Her mind processed the statement for a moment before restarting, her mouth moving even faster, "He is part of this investigation now, you have to see that."

The wizard made a short cutting gesture, unwilling to back down, "No, he's not. He's a young boy who has just lost his parents, his entire world, to a mad man's ambition. You will leave him out of this."

Aurelia bristled. She knew he would fight her on this but she couldn't give up. The matter was too important. "Albus," she said, her arms moving forward in a pleading man as her irritation became known, "you have to realize that something incredibly wrong happened there. That man is one of the most proficient dark arts practitioners ever seen. Those marks prove that he was doing things with magic that have never been done, never should be done. This is a person so damaging that he's being compared to Grindelwald, the dark wizard behind the worst war this world has ever seen. A small child, who has not even come into his own magic yet, is in no way going to stop a person with such standing. Something happened, something went wrong involving those two."

She paused, letting her words sink in, before continuing, "That boy is the key to finding out what happened. He's being lauded as a survivor of the famous 'Killing Curse'. That should not happen, Albus." Finishing her tirade she leaned back in the chair, watching the wizard digest her words, for all good they might have done.

Another long silence. Another seemingly endless stare down. It all ended when she spoke, her words quiet with promise, "I'll find him. You don't have enough resources to hide him forever." It was only partially true. He held many prestigious positions that allotted him a great deal of authority among the global magical community. The boy could be stuffed into a dark corner of the world for decades before she unraveled the location, assuming he wasn't moved before hand. In the end, she had given an ultimatum that would tie up resources and influence, two things he would desperately need in the post-war after the dark lord's demise.

But then he already knew that, knew that she was only partially bluffing. He always knew what she meant, which constantly infuriated her to no end.

He sighed, a deep rumble from a weary man feeling his years. He looked toward the open window, resting his sight on the darkness of the night before speaking, "Then I would ask that you leave it alone. His loss is tremendous and total. A child who barely had time with his parents...may his future be kinder than his past has been."

He turned back toward her, his tired eyes just a little more vibrant, "Do not mistake me. I do not doubt your assessment. Voldemort was caught by surprise, flat footed in the wake of his own utter victory. However there is another reason for my hesitation, one deeply entangled with protecting the boy from reprisal." He paused, reaching for another lemon drop before continuing, "I need assurance that you will drop the matter of Harry before continuing. He is far safer were he is at the moment."

She furrowed her brows, irritation marring her youthful face. She knew this outcome to be an inevitability, as did he likely, but that didn't make it any more distasteful. Begrudgingly she nodded, motioning him to continue. She would work out the investigation via other means if needed.

The wizard continued, "When Harry was found with the house in such ruin I instructed Hagrid to bring him to the school so that I might examine him for wounds or other ill effects of dark magic. What I found was extraordinary. Lily gave her life for her son, willingly sacrificing herself so that he might live on, protected from his would be attacker."

Aurelia frowned. This did not make sense. If the mother had bent her magic and soul to act as a ward for her son against the dark lord after her death then it should have done just that, not obliterating said master of the dark arts.

Dumbledore continued, "It is my theory that when he cast the killing curse against Harry that the protection rebounded the magic back toward Voldemort, catching him by surprise and thus ending his life."

She could not dispute that. Blood magic, though for the most part banned, was one of the most powerful disciplines ever conceived. Vampires use it readily on their initiates, pledges they hold for the purpose of slaking their thirst. Certain werewolf groups and other changelings have studied it to provide an answer to their curse, futile as their efforts turn out. Blood was a viable source of power. It held a deep potency, a strict hidden potential that went unrealized by many.

If the young potter boy was given a protection fueled by the fluttering power of his mother's soul and sustained by the inherent ties of lineage, then it was a powerful charm indeed.

That still left a gaping hole in the theory. "Hagrid has described the dark lord's remains has non-existent, that he was just annihilated. A killing curse, rebounded or not, does not do that."

He hummed to himself, straightening out his beard, before stating, "I agree, though Voldemort is not a normal wizard by any means. He meddled in arts darker than I have ever known. I'm sure you are more capable of discerning that answer than I."

He was right, she acknowledged. She had a lot of theories, but an unfortunate lack of proof.

The wizard continued, "Harry is currently with the family of his mother, taken in, sadly enough, under no small amount of duress. I have made a small addition to his protection, a tag-along charm that should protect him from the Death Eaters should they desire revenge. However, it is only functional when at the home of a living maternal relative. You see the dilemma?"

She did. Though it could mostly be solved by giving the boy to her. Despite the threat a vengeful death cult presents they could do little to her without being destroyed outright. That said she wasn't blind enough to believe that she could take care the needs of a child. Frustratingly it was a better solution than most she could see at the moment, and he knew that it was.

She hated feeling like she was being used.

Still that did leave the problem of the dark lord being gone and a gaping hole in her investigation. She spoke, voicing her concerns, "I do not believe that he is gone."

Dumbledore frowned, a contemplative look overtaking him. "No, I don't doubt it. He always feared death and the idea of passing on. There is no telling how far his research may have taken him."

Another lie. He had his suspicions but nothing to go on, just a hunch. She couldn't blame him. He was a brilliant wizard in his own right, a man who knew a great deal about the magical world and its entities. He had faced down one of the greatest dark wizards ever known and masterminded a war against another. He was of noble enough character for the school to accept him as the caretaker of its students and decent enough diplomat to sustain such high positions across the magical community.

But for all these boons he, the foremost expert on all things magic, still had such little knowledge about the subject's most secret of truths.

That's where she came in. An agent with the freedom of being able to go where she pleased and capable of handling dangers most would be unwilling to face down. She could continue this investigation, chase down the death cult when they inevitably went underground, and, ultimately, discern how the dark lord survived. The killing curse, powerful in its own right, was only a variant of a much greater magic. That he would toss it around, casually flinging bolts of deathly green where he pleased, proved that he had the strength to wield it.

Aurelia knew one thing as absolute fact. Strong souls did not just die.

They lingered on, unable to fade away.


End file.
